Throughout the Book of Joshua, we see parallels and allusions to Moses. For example, Moses sent spies to scout out the land beyond the Jordan, Joshua sent spies to scout out Jericho. Moses leads the Israelites through the Reed Sea; Joshua takes them across the Jordan. Just as Moses directed the Hebrews to hold a Passover meal before leaving Egypt, Joshua and the Israelites celebrate the Passover in the land of Canaan. Above all, however, Joshua is portrayed as an ideal leader, without flaw or hesitation. In fact, the entire Book of Joshua presents an idealized version of leadership and of the nation itself – what Israel wanted to believe it could be when truly and faithfully living the will of God. Our text today portrays a significant moment in the nation’s history – the crossing of the people into the land of Canaan. While written several centuries after the settlement of the people in the hill country, the Book of Joshua served to remind Israel that the land, and their presence there were gifts of God, and that remaining in that special place was contingent on their obedience to God’s law.

As we reflect on our own lives and the life of our church today, what might we call to mind as an example of God’s “exalting” us as God did Joshua and the Israelites? Where has God so generously gifted us?

Just as the Lord called upon Joshua and the Israelites to keep the Mosaic Law as the condition for their continued inhabitance of the land, what is God asking God’s people to do in our contemporary circumstances?

What are we doing and what might we still need to do as signs of our fidelity to God’s will?

Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37

Scholars think that this psalm was most likely written in Israel’s post-exilic period (i.e., after the disastrous Babylonian invasion and exile). The references to gathering from the four directions those who are scattered suggest such a date. The psalmist uses the image of the hungry and thirsty wandering in the desert to underscore God’s redeeming power. While we may not be wandering the deserts of the Middle East as our ancestors in faith were, so many of us continue to wander our interior deserts crying out for God’s help. Like the Israelites, we all carry a sense of loss, sadness and emptiness in our hearts, and like them we often dwell in this deserted place for some time before we turn to God for help, “crying to the Lord in their trouble,” and allow God to deliver us from our distress. It was the 1990’s pop icon Kurt Cobain, lead singer of the group Nirvana, who noted in his diary, shortly before his suicide, that no amount of money, or drugs, or fame could fill the void he felt inside himself. What was he longing for? Most us will also spend some time in our lives in that “desert waste,” as the psalmist says, before we realize that only God can lead us by a straight way to an inhabited town.

Which words or phrases from this psalm selection especially resonate with you and why?

How do you relate to the psalmist’s emotions and longing so beautifully expressed in this text?

1 Thessalonians 2:9-13

Throughout Paul’s career as a preacher, money was always an issue! Because of the complex dynamics of patron/client relationships characteristic of this era in the Mediterranean world, Paul generally did not accept money for his personal livelihood from the congregations to whom he was currently preaching. Rather, he worked as a tentmaker, a versatile trade that permitted him to stitch everything from ship’s sails to awnings. He reminds his Thessalonian audience that he and his companions asked nothing of his flock financially speaking. More importantly, however, Paul recognizes that the conduct of children reflects the instruction their father has given. The literal sense of the Greek here reminds the Thessalonians to “walk worthily.” This is a very Semitic statement, for it relies heavily on the Israelite sense of halaka, our walking/living in the correct way. It is for this reason the Thessalonians are admonished. Paul wants his spiritual children to be both prepared and worthy to enjoy the glory of God’s reign when it is made manifest on earth, an event which both Paul and his audience believed was to occur within their lifetime. Today’s text concludes with Paul offering a thanksgiving because the Thessalonians have accepted his preaching and have committed their whole selves to the gospel of God. For Paul’s audience at Thessalonica, hearing the message did not remain merely a matter of the intellect, but led to total personal transformation.

Paul was clearly concerned with correct “walking” (living) as he was correct thinking. What are the primary characteristics of “walking worthily” in our contemporary Christian context?

What must we do to allow the words of the gospel transform us? What might be characteristic of our experience of God’s word at work in us?

Matthew 23:1-12

In this episode Jesus pounds on one of his favorite targets for ridicule: those who think of themselves as pious and holy, those who make a show of acting pious and holy, and those who condemn others for not being, in their view, pious and holy enough. Jesus’ criticism of Pharisees and Scribes would widely be seen as ridiculous, because it was these two groups who dedicated much time and energy to the most noble and worthy of professions – the study of God’s law. It is easy to see why Jesus made enemies in the religious establishment! Even today it will raise hackles to suggest to people who already think of themselves as religious and pious that God might want something else of them. But this is what Jesus did, and continues to do. This Gospel text can be taken as a call to self-examination, for us both personally and as a church.

What might Jesus have to say to modern day “scribes” and “Pharisees”?

What “heavy burdens” do we place upon one another in the name of religion?

What elements of our piety and religious thinking today need to be challenged?

“Don’t let yourselves be called ‘Reverend,’ for you have the one pastor and you are all brothers. And don’t call any human being ‘father,’ for you have but one spiritual father; neither be called ‘Doctor,’ for you have one doctor – the Leader. Your top man shall be your houseboy. So who promotes himself gets bumped, and whoever bumps himself gets promoted.”

Clarence Jordan knew a little bit about these kinds of people; he even was one for time. Getting his Ph.D. in New Testament afforded Jordan with many of the honors that he, through the words of Jesus, finds troubling today. But Jordan did something unusual for his day, and it’s unusual today as well. He took the gospel seriously and formed an inter-racial Christian community. Now all this happened in the early 1940s, and it happened in South Georgia. “Dr. Jordan” became “farmer Clarence,” and all because of his devotion to his one teacher, Father, and Lord. Now, we are not all called to become farmers for Jesus, but we are all called to contend with what Jesus lays out for us today.

Today’s gospel reading comes from the long section in Matthew where Jesus is doing a lot of teaching. First, Jesus says that his followers ought to respect the authority of the Pharisees and the scribes. When Jesus says that they “sit on Moses’ seat,” he is, in effect, saying that these religious leaders have legitimate authority. Jesus never denounces the Law, the Torah, or the traditions of Israel. The original covenant, the first covenant, between God and Abraham, then through the life of Israel, was, and still is, in effect. Jesus is holding his listeners accountable to the Law. What Jesus is doing is lambasting these religious authorities for being too showy with the public expression of their faith. It is not that their phylacteries are wrong to wear; it’s that they have made a prayer shawl into an article of bragging.

After ridiculing the Pharisees and scribes for their showy spirituality, Jesus then goes on to say that we should recognize no rabbi, father, or teacher except Christ. This is not to be taken literally, but it is to be taken seriously. Of course, we all have fathers and teachers, but Jesus’ injunction is on our proper understanding of where we stand in the grand scheme of things. Here, Jesus is making a claim very much like the one that God made on Mount Sinai when he delivered the Ten Commandments to Moses. The first commandment was: you shall have no other gods before me. God expects us to trust him, solely and totally. God is reminding us that we all have the inclination within us to look around and try to make something complete us; this is the heart of idolatry. Things can never complete us, neither can people. It’s wrong on both counts, but it is especially unfair to make an idol of people. Why would we put such a burden on our spouses, our partners, our parents, our children? They cannot be God for us; only God can be God. It is God who is the source of our happiness, satisfaction, and hope.

This is precisely what Jesus is saying to us today. There’s only one father, there is only one rabbi, and there is only one teacher. There’s only one initiator of the Kingdom of God, and that is Jesus Christ. Of course, teachers and other mentors are good. We all have those special individuals who show us the path to approaching God, to deeper knowledge of ourselves and our Lord. But God is the goal, God is always the goal. And we never come to him but through his own bidding. God has made himself known to us first in the life of Israel, then through Jesus Christ, and now we know him through his Holy Spirit, which enables us to come to God.

Recognizing that there is only one God, one father, and one teacher is easier said than done. Usually, when we come to know something, we know it as fact and then proceed based on the facts. God has given us a peculiar commandment: to put all of our faith, hope, and trust in him and him alone. All the saints, sages, and scholars before us on our way to God have always put this kind of faith into terms dealing with trust. And the funny thing about it is that trust can only be built by extending it. When we trust someone, we don’t really know what’s going to happen. Trusting God is hard. If following God, completely and totally, were easy, everyone would be doing it.

It simply isn’t enough for us to be admirers of Christ, we need to be disciples. We become disciples by having one God, one teacher, and following him first. Our trust in God will cause His faithfulness to spring forward and drive us to deeper and deeper love for ourselves, our neighbors, and most importantly, for our God.

Written by the Rev. Joshua BowronThe Rev. Joshua Bowron is the senior assistant to the rector at Saint John’s Episcopal Church in Charlotte, North Carolina, where he lives with his wife and three children.

“Jesus said to him, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” (Matthew 22:37-40)

If we’ve come to love Moses, flawed as he may be, over the course of the four books in which he figures prominently, it’s no surprise that this tableau is bittersweet for us as well as for Israel. It’s tempting to shout out to the page, if not to God, about the leader’s treatment at the LORD’s hands. And our feelings are merely stoked if we go back and read the mystifying story in which Moses receives his sentence (Numbers 20:1-13). But this passage is not without internal reflection on the matter. The writer wants us to notice that Moses – who, after all, did those “signs and wonders,” “mighty deeds,” and “terrifying displays of power” according to God’s own instruction, help, and encouragement – is obedient to the last. He even dies “at the LORD’s command.” If Moses’s “unimpaired sight” was impressed by this mountaintop panorama, we may still assume that the view was as nothing compared with the privilege of knowing God “face to face.” Perhaps this story is a reminder that our ultimate rest is not in an earthly or even heavenly Promised Land but in God’s very self.

Describe a “panorama moment” in your own life.

What leaders have laid their hands on you (verse 9), figuratively or literally, and to what effect?

For whom have you wept in the wilderness? What did the experience teach you?

Psalm 90:1-6, 13-17

On vivid display in this psalm is our human finitude, especially compared to God’s eternal strength and reliability. Particularly lovely and terrifying to me is the idea that God “sweep[s] us away like a dream” (verse 5). I think what the psalmist is trying to capture is that strange contrast between the realness of our immediate experience in dreams and the way that, almost to a one, they somehow fade from our memories like the altogether less important minutiae of our everyday lives. “How can such substantial experiences, and how can our very lives, be like unto dust?” the psalmist asks. Verses 13-17 sound to me like a prayerful poet’s faithful response in the face of such questions.

What images from this psalm resonate especially powerfully for you? Why do you think that is?

How is this psalm an appropriate reflection on our reading from Deuteronomy?

What “handiwork” do you hope God will “prosper” (verse 17) in your own life?

1 Thessalonians 2:1-8

God is at the center every step of the way in this letter. In the previous chapter, Paul notes that the Thessalonians have been “chosen” by God “because our message of the gospel came to you not in word only, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction” (1:4-5). God is “living and true” (1:9), and it is God’s divine activity at work in the world and in the lives of these Christians to which Paul appeals. God gives Paul the “courage” to “declare … the gospel of God in spite of great opposition.” God has “entrusted” Paul with this mission of proclamation, and God will test his heart. Most moving, then, is what follows: “So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you have become very dear to us.” When we become aware of God’s activity in our lives, when we get caught up in God’s mission in the world, the experience inspires our personal investment. The work we do and the people we serve become “very dear to us” indeed. Thanks be to God.

When has God given you courage for mission?

What happens inside you when God’s work starts to become your own?

Matthew 22:34-46

In these short exchanges, we and the Pharisees encounter Jesus the playful and discerning teacher and interpreter of scripture. The second (verses 41-46) reminds us of other clever maneuvers designed to both make a point and silence his critics (see, for example, the “Question about Paying Taxes” earlier in the chapter). But more profound is the first exchange. When asked about “the greatest” commandment, he gives a safe answer by quoting Deuteronomy (6:4-5). Indeed, this is the answer that the people of Israel were to keep in their hearts, recite to their children, and talk about at all times and in all places (Deuteronomy 6:6-7). But then he says that a second commandment “is like it”: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” As he says, much “hangs” on these two commandments and their interrelatedness.

In what ways is love of God like love of neighbor? Do we do the second as a form of obedience to the first? Or do we do the second because it is indistinguishable from the first? (See, for example, Matthew 25:31-46.)

Faith, hope, and charity are three of the seven virtues; the others are prudence, justice, temperance, and courage. Faith, hope, and charity are ascribed to St. Paul. Both his writings and ministry, as chronicled by the author of Acts, show that he taught and lived these three great virtues. Let’s take a look at each of them.

Faith is our heritage going back to Abraham, who was led with Sarah into the wilderness, always assured by God there was a plan and that his descendants would be like the stars of heaven. The Abrahamic journey is more than just a trip; it is a spiritual quest that still haunts us and inspires us today. We can picture them journeying through the desert, standing out under the stars at night, and wondering where they were destined to settle.

Moses, another great leader of faith, follows the path of Abraham and Sarah in his own journey from slavery to freedom with the people of Israel. The great faith expressed in the history of African Americans as they moved from slavery to freedom still shapes our church and its life today – faith that one day all people will walk together in harmony and diversity.

Faith is a great part of Jesus’ ministry. Jesus teaches us that faith like a mustard seed is sufficient. He teaches us what faith in God can do in the face of sadness and loss. And Jesus teaches us to have faith that the Father’s will be done, just as Christ himself did as he underwent the agony of the Garden on the night of his betrayal.

Faith is the dynamo of our religion, a faith that God is at work behind the headlines, in the streets and the desolate places, bringing about a plan of salvation; faith that all of us have a part in that plan; faith that one day there will be no more crying or weeping, but shouts of triumphant joy at the coming of the kingdom.

Meanwhile, practicing faith as a virtue remains an inspiration. “She is a real woman of faith.” “He may have lost his job, but he never lost his faith.” Faith, for us, is in believing there are answers to the question “Why?” And faith does not need to know the answer right now. Faith is waiting, knowing that God may have something better for us in mind.

Hope works in our lives, not because of what we do, but as the work of the Holy Spirit. The power of our faith causes us to dare to hope, even when the cynic denies it, and hope conquers our despair at the unhappiness and folly we see in the world.

Hope is framed in the things that are unseen, according to Paul. We won’t know what to hope for because we have not yet seen what it will be.

A close ally of faith, hope puts us in a place of anticipation, not silly excitement. Hope gives us our morning resolve to arise and get going because it is God’s day, and there will be something of beauty and wonder for us in it. This hope is found most profoundly in places where the future is mocked by poverty, cruelty, and indifference. It is also found in our culture among people who know their work is not in vain, that what they are doing somehow is preparing the way for the future, and that will be better because of what we do even now.

Charity is an act of love: something that burns white hot in us, again the work of the Spirit. Charity is unconditional in its application and causes us to give freely of our abundance to overcome scarcity. Charity is giving both of our treasure and talent, but also of our love for others. It places others first as an act of obedience, not second to our own needs.

Charity always has enough for others. It is what creates miracles when people in a church decide to do something for others and find an abundance of gifts for that ministry.

Charity does more than cause us to care, it causes us to care with boundaries that allow others to grow in grace, knowing they are supported by a fellowship that cares about them but will not overwhelm them.

Charity works when elaborate plans fail. It is simple in its application and does not understand complexity. It is sometimes compared to a lamp that sheds light in the darkness of human want, darkness that is the poverty of both spirit and purse.

All three of these virtues – faith, hope, and charity – are gifts of the Creator. They are not human inventions. They existed at the dawn of creation and are firmly planted by God in what it means to be human.

One can find them in today’s gospel reading in Jesus’ rabbinical response to the question put to him, “Which commandment in the law is the greatest?” Jesus’ response is the summary of the law: to love God and our neighbor. In a few words Jesus summarizes all the teaching of the law and the prophets and includes, by implication, faith, hope and charity.

Who could love God and not have faith in what God is doing?

Who could love God and not have hope that God’s plan of salvation is being worked out daily and that we have a part in it?

Who could love their neighbor and not feel the heat of charity in their relationships with others we are sent to serve?

Asking the question about what God commands is good; but failure to heed the response is folly. The wisdom of the world knows little of the virtues; they are often replaced by greed, cynicism, and self-love. Christians are constantly challenged by the conflict between faith, hope, and charity and the world’s wisdom.

From today’s collect, we learn again that these gifts of God may be prayed for and increased in us:

Almighty and everlasting God, increase in us the gifts of faith, hope, and charity; and that we may obtain what you promise, make us love what you command; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Little boys do not stitch together their own Klansman robes. Young girls do not look longingly at vests in shop windows with visions of being a suicide bomber. Yes, children will readily turn sticks into swords and guns for their play. But they do not name someone as “other,” the enemy, an object of hate. You have to be taught to name the ones to be feared and fought as “the Russians,” “the Vietnamese,” “the Iraqis.” And while the color of someone’s skin does not readily carry values, children can learn to hate based on the differing tones as easily as they can be taught to hate a group of people for the attractions they feel or the beliefs they hold.

The specific gravity of parents’ thoughts can tip the scales of a child’s heart very easily at the earliest age. Kids can barely grasp the meaning of “cat” and “cup” and “car,” and soon after are taught to use that God-given ability for speech to spew hate.

No one is immune to learning hatred. But the progress of a child’s path is much faster than an adult’s, and we are startled at a kindergartner who hates someone because he is a Jew, or because she is a Muslim, or because the family is Christian. The youngster is not clear on what the words mean, just that the person is “other,” and dangerous to all that is good – or so those he or she loves have said.

This same path to hate can be followed at any age. Teens with no hope of a future can readily be shown how to channel their hopelessness into hate. Grown men and women, too, can channel frustrations and fear into hatred.

How far hatred can carry the human heart was made crushingly clear ten years ago at 8:46 a.m., Eastern Daylight Time. American Airlines Flight 11 from Boston was bound for Los Angeles when it was hijacked 15 minutes into the flight. Loaded with fuel for the cross-country trip, the plane became a guided missile, slamming 91 people into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Within minutes, the media was going live with news of a terrible accident in New York as firefighters and policeman rushed through Manhattan commuter traffic toward the shredded remains of the upper floors of the tower.

Around the city, eyes looked toward the World Trade Center. Seventeen minutes after the first accident, many more people saw the impossible happen: a second airliner disappeared into the South Tower. The situation came into focus: no accident had occurred. America was under attack.

Unimaginable tragedies piled one upon another, with a plane crashing into the Pentagon and another into a Pennsylvania field. The Twin Towers fell. Before night fell, the nineteen hijackers had killed 2,973 people and sent out waves of grief around the world.

The hijackers had been fed a steady diet of hate. They were consumed by that hate and fed a desire to lash out against the United States in an act of terror more important to them than their own lives.

The carnage of that morning gouged a deep wound in the psyche of the United States. Ten years later, the wound has not completely healed. We fought back, first against the Taliban in Afghanistan, and then against Saddam Hussein and those who supported him in Iraq. Seal Team Six took out Osama Bin Laden, the man behind the terror. Yet none of these actions has brought healing. The surface is scarred over. The pain remains.

On this day, when we remember the carnage wrought, we can recall with crystal clarity the effects of distilled evil. We bring that collective pain here to the altar. And on this day of all days, we hear in our appointed readings of scripture, a mixed message. From Exodus, we get the story of the Children of Israel at the Red Sea. God drives back the water, the people cross on dry land and then Pharaoh and his pursuing army is drowned. The Lord has triumphed gloriously, the horse and rider he has thrown into the sea. This wrath of God seems appropriate. Good destroys evil.

But that is not what followed September 11. God’s judgment still hangs in the balance.

On this day, we also read Jesus’ parable of grace and forgiveness. Jesus tells of a man who is not simply in debt; he faces an impossibly large mountain of money to repay. One Biblical scholar, Eugene Boring, has calculated that as King Herod’s annual income from all taxes from all his territories was a mere 900 talents per year, the 10,000 talents would exceed all of the taxes of Syria, Phoenicia, Judea, and Samaria as well. The parable is hyperbole; no servant could amass a debt so large. Then, when the king cancels the debt, the man, now free from the burden, goes out to demand payment from someone who owes him a debt equal to a hundred days’ wages.

The first debt was so great as to be impossible either to owe or to pay. That is, until we realize that in the parable, it is we who are the debtors. We owe a debt to God that we cannot possibly repay. God has not only given us life, but continues to love us and want what is best for us when our every action falls short of the glory of God. Our sins mount up higher and higher until there is no way we could begin to atone for them. And through faith in Jesus, the Christ, we can repent, turn back from our sins, and find the debt has been canceled. And then, like the merciless servant, we go expecting everyone else to pay up for the hurts they cause us.

Jesus’ point is well made. God has forgiven each of us so much that we should go out to forgive others. But aren’t some acts too great to forgive? On this day of all days, we know how great an evil can grow within the confines of the human heart.

And this one day does not stand alone. World history is packed to the brim with acts of evil. Even within living memory, many of us have seen the killing fields of Cambodia, the wholesale slaughter of Stalin’s iron-fisted reign over Russia, and the genocide of Rwanda. We have learned that once we are taught to demonize those we hate, then any act can be justified. In the death camps of Nazi Germany, we discovered that one can be raised on the poetry of Rilke, the prose of Goethe, the breathtakingly beautiful compositions of Bach, and the moving operas of Wagner, yet use the finest tools of human understanding in the attempt to systematically wipe out a people.

Looking to these acts of extreme violence, we must ask, Are there not some crimes to heinous to forgive? And on this day, we ask, Isn’t forgiving the perpetrators of September 11 too much to ask? How could those of us who remain alive even have the right to forgive?

The answer from scripture is two-fold. First, scripture teaches that judgment is for God alone. Second, we are to forgive as we have been forgiven.

In the reading from Romans, Paul says, “Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God.”

We are, each of us accountable for our actions before God. We are not accountable for the injury done to us, but for our reaction to that hurt. We are then accountable for the actions we do in reaction to the pain we are caused.

Jesus, who taught us to pray “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” called out from the cross, “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.” Yet, forgiveness can be so difficult. This is true at the global scale with an act like the terrorist attacks we remember today. And forgiveness can cut just as deep for those not directly touched by 9/11, who wonder if they can forgive a father who committed incest, a business partner who stole money, and too many other private tragedies to name.

Yet, not forgiving, means holding on to the hate. Not forgiving someone is like drinking poison in the hope that the other person will die.

This does not speak to how a nation should react when attacked by another nation or by terrorists. Instead, we are speaking about how one might react to the very personal hurt and betrayals he or she has suffered. Will you let hurt fester until it distills into hate? Or will you pray for the grace to forgive?

Archbishop Desmond Tutu knows about forgiveness through the daring act of helping lead South Africa through truth and reconciliation after the end of Apartheid. This involved thousands of acts of confession and forgiveness. He has written of this process saying, “Forgiveness does not mean condoning what has been done. It means taking what happened seriously and not minimizing it; drawing out the sting in the memory that threatens to poison our entire existence. It involves trying to understand the perpetrators and so have empathy, to try to stand in their shoes and appreciate the sort of pressures and influences that might have conditioned them.”

Forgiveness does not have to mean forgetting, and reconciliation is not always possible. Forgiveness means trusting judgment to God, and this is only possible by the grace that comes from God alone. Archbishop Tutu writes, “Forgiving means abandoning your right to pay back the perpetrator in his own coin, but it is a loss that liberates the victim.”

God became human in Jesus of Nazareth. He lived among us, not just teaching about love, but more importantly, showing us the love of God. Jesus chose to show power through his powerlessness on the cross. Jesus continually gave the example of turning the other cheek, of offering mercy, love, and forgiveness. God came in Jesus and offered us the redemptive power of his blood. He also gave us a pattern for how humans can live godly lives.

Jesus’ example was vital, as men and women do not naturally let go of past hurts. We have to learn grace and forgiveness. Children do not learn to forgive unless they are shown by example.

You have to be taught to love.

Written by the Rev. Canon Frank Logue
The Rev. Canon Frank Logue is the Canon to the Ordinary for the Diocese of Georgia.

“Then Jesus said to them, ‘Whose head is this, and whose title?’ They answered, ‘The emperor’s.’ Then Jesus said to them, ‘Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.’” (Matthew 22:20-21)

Kvetching in Yiddish loosely translates as “complaining”; however, there is a positive element. A good kvetch bears one’s soul and it conveys heart-wrenching pain and frustration; but, there is hope. One trusts that the kvetch will be heard and honored.

Moses is in a dire position. The survival of a people depends on Moses’ leadership. With all of his soul and might, he kvetches to God and asks for supernatural intercession and reassurance. Moses might have feared speaking so liberally with God after God’s reaction to the Golden Calf. Instead, the language Moses uses is daring and intimate. But like many other petitions we find in the Bible, Moses still appeals to God’s powerful role in the universe. In other words, Moses acknowledges both God’s imminence and transcendence. Moses seems fully aware that nothing is worth doing without God’s presence, yet God’s presence can also be dangerous (verse 20). This interaction models a relationship that invites us to be direct, needy and honest with God. This interaction shows us the importance of being sincere.

Psalm 99

How does God convict you while showing you mercy?

God has an intimate relationship with Zion and its people. Moreover, it is a saving relationship. In fact, God’s holiness seems inescapably intertwined with creation. God has the ability to manifest in Zion, in people, and in Jesus. God’s direct involvement with creation demonstrates God’s power. God’s imminence testifies to God’s ability to love and to love better than anyone else could express. Sometimes in church, we sing songs about how much we love God, while in reality, our love is very meager. God’s love is infinitely impressive. This is why the psalmist enthusiastically praises God and refers to God’s intervention in Exodus.

But the end of the psalm presents an obstacle. Verse 8 tells us that God is both forgiving and “an avenger of their wrongdoings.” God “loves justice” (verse 4), but this apparently does not dissuade God from working with the unjust. While there is tension, the same tension is found in the cross: how does God hold us accountable while forgiving us?

1 Thessalonians 1:1-10

How can we be happy for others?

How can we strengthen our bond with fellow believers? How can we encourage and comfort our brothers and sisters?

The Thessalonians are praised for their exemplary faith. They have joy in the midst of their suffering. This testifies to the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. God is working through Paul’s ministry team and they have inspired some Thessalonians. Now, the Thessalonians are inspiring Paul; and in return, Paul’s exhorts them. There is so much love flowing back and forth. People are genuinely happy for one another’s spiritual advancements. People are invigorated by God’s presence in each others’ lives. Jesus is the source of their deep connection and closeness.

Paul refers to the receivers of the letter as “brothers.” Even though there is persecution, even though families are being severed, the family lingo employed here compensates for these losses. Paul uses language such as “our God.” God does not belong to him. The gospel does not belong to him. It is for Paul to preach. Salvation is for all.

Matthew 22:15-22

How do we use the scriptures to inform our actions?

In this famous passage, Caesar’s image is on a coin, but God’s imprint is on people. This is one way to sum up Jesus’ clever response to the Pharisees who are trying to trick him. Even though they attempt to manipulate Jesus, Jesus shows everyone that he is in control. He confronts the popular Pharisees and then he does a couple interesting things. One, Jesus affirms their Jewish doctrine. Jesus does not theologically disagree with them. The law is a manifestation of God’s goodness, therefore Jesus is never against the law itself. The second interesting move that Jesus makes is that his response goes beyond the Pharisees’ question. Jesus does not give us concrete boundaries as to how to spend our money, but he gives us an important truth, God permeates all aspects of life. What a beautiful freedom and burden it is to be left individually responsible to figure out what it means to give what belongs to God to God. It is up to us to discern the distinction between what is for and of God, and what is not.

“Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” Generally quoted in its King James version, “Render unto Caesar,” this statement somehow comes easily adrift from its gospel moorings and is usually cited in support of political theories, from tax reforms to freedom of religion in the modern state.

We see this sentence in today’s reading from Matthew 22. Jesus and his closest disciples are in one of the temple courtyards in Jerusalem, where Jesus has been storytelling and teaching. Much of that teaching has been in response to an earlier direct challenge to his authority. Toward the end of a series of teaching parables in Chapters 21 and 22, Matthew tells us that “when the chief priests and the Pharisees heard these parables, they realized that he was speaking about them. They wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowds because the crowds regarded Jesus as a prophet.”

Questions about Jesus’ authority had been aired throughout his public ministry, but Matthew wants us to understand that the tensions between Jesus and the temple authorities are now reaching critical proportions. In Chapter 22, Matthew writes: “the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap [Jesus] in what he said.”

And now Jesus comes under even more pressure: the temple authorities – chief priests and Pharisees – have already determined to remove him from the public eye. Now the Pharisees have brought members of the Herodians along. These are the courtiers and clients of Herod, Rome’s puppet king. They represent not only the Jewish ruling authority in Judaea outside the city of Jerusalem, but also the threat of Roman intervention in Jesus’ public ministry. Notoriously, Herod and his followers accommodated the Roman occupying power. So when the Herodians show up to listen to Jesus, the authority of Caesar has now entered the scene.

Having built up the picture of powerful challengers, both temple and Roman, now surrounding Jesus on all sides, Matthew shifts gear. Introducing a moment of exaggerated inflated rhetoric typical of any eastern Mediterranean court at that time, he briefly breaks the narrative tension. Pharisees and Herodians alike begin by flattering Jesus, saying, “Teacher we know that you are sincere and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one, for you do not regard people with partiality.”

Entrapment begins with flattery. But then comes what is doubtless meant to be an absolutely killer question: “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?”

A moment’s thought should convince us, however, that this method of entrapping Jesus in his teaching might be a bit silly. Certainly, the Pharisees have heard Jesus teaching before now and they have watched him outwit all his interlocutors, often with quite edgy humor. Their question wants a yes or no answer. Yes, would mean that Jesus is prepared to abandon God’s priorities to accommodate the Romans. No, would mean Jesus is willing to side with rebel political groups such as the Zealots who want the Romans out at all costs. Do they not realize Jesus is too clever to fall into such a simple trap?

We notice that Jesus does not answer the question at all. He turns to the people nearest to him and asks for the coin that is used for the tax. It is interesting that Jesus does not carry such a coin himself. In his lifetime, there were several different tax obligations for a Jew in Jerusalem: the temple tithe incumbent upon all Jews meant one sort of coinage, but the newest tax was the Roman colonial land tax, payable in imperially minted coinage. The fact that Jesus apparently has no such coin is one of several indications in the gospels that Jesus of Nazareth owned neither urban property in lower Galilee nor farmland anywhere else. Jesus stands there, in other words, without any worldly resources in a potentially dangerous situation.

“Whose head is on this coin?” he asks. Because the coin is the Roman land-tax coin, the answer is “Caesar’s.” It might be the head of Augustus, or it might be the head of Tiberius, Matthew does not need to say. Jesus represents the authority neither of the temple nor of the Roman governor. The future of those two political entities, and the monetary tributes that support them, is not Jesus’ future. Nor are those entities the governing factor in the future of those early Christians for whom Matthew is writing. When Matthew’s Jesus says that Pharisee and Herodian alike should give Caesar his due, and give God his due, there is only one future at stake, and that is God’s future. For Matthew, as for ourselves, the reality of that future lies with Jesus: the living face of God.

Shortly after this episode, there is a brief confrontation between Jesus and members of another political body, the Sadducee party; and Matthew notes that from that day, nobody dared to ask Jesus any more questions. The gospel continues with a set of future-oriented parables and sayings given mostly to Jesus’ closest disciples, and then transitions into the great Passion narrative. We leave the reading ruminating upon the possibility that this business never was about coins, tax reforms, or divided loyalties.

As it says in the first chapter of Genesis, we are created “in the image and likeness” of God. We try to live into that empowering image in our political adherences, our economic aims for ourselves and our neighbors, our hopes for our families and friends. In all the complex claims on our loyalties and our finances, our tax dollars and our pension funds, for the children of God there is always and only ever this one priority and one claim upon our lives: the authoritative call and presence of God.

We often might find it hard to accept the ambiguity and uncertainty that mature faith requires. Like the ancient Hebrews in the wilderness, we would rather have clarity, certainty, and the confidence that comes in what can be seen. We do not easily surrender to the wisdom of “let go, let God.” Our ancestors in faith gave into their impatience and desire for certainty by fashioning an idol. Our own age has succumbed to the need for certainty, it could be argued, through fundamentalism, the prevalence in many churches of condemnatory rhetoric directed against fellow members, and juridicism (the Latin Rite Catholic Bishop Stephen Blair of Stockton aptly described the juridicist as one who “searches out laws new or old to justify personal positions or ideologies in the Church. Especially they like to focus on liturgical practices. They incline to creating unnecessary hoops for people to jump through).

Aaron served as a weak and dim-witted accomplice in the rebellion of his people – a classic example of a leader who usurps his responsibility by failing to summon the courage to tell people what they don’t want to hear. How often do we encounter this problem in both ecclesiastical and secular life? Interestingly, this passage concludes with Moses averting disaster by an appeal to Yahweh’s noblesse oblige. Fortunately for all (including us!) Yahweh can be persuaded to change Yahweh’s mind!

How easily do you “let go, let God”?

Has your faith arrived at a point where you can live with ambiguity and uncertainty?

What does Aaron’s example (or bad example) in this episode have to teach us?

Psalm 106:1-6, 19-23

Although our psalm’s lectionary text today is abbreviated to include a hymn of praise and a recounting of a sad event in Israel’s history, the broader context of Psalm 106 is one of lament. Written during Israel’s exile in Babylon, this psalm returns to Israel’s past sins, particularly those recounted in Exodus 32. The psalmist compares the sins of the contemporary people with those of a former generation. Clearly, the writer has in mind the mercy that God showed the ancestors.

In our heterogeneous society it is easier to “move forward” and “get over” what has happened in the past. But for homogenous cultures, the travesties of the long past can still carry great pain and meaning. This is the case for the writer of Psalm 106. The request of verse 4, “Remember me, O LORD, with the favor you have for your people, and visit me with your saving help” conjures a sadness and hopefulness that can only come through being in touch with deep historical memories, as well as feelings of lament that transcend the individual.

These emotions encompass an entire people. Much can be discovered in reflecting upon the deepest hurts and shame of one’s self and one’s people. Through such a revisiting, failure can be begin to be transformed into an opportunity for wisdom and “saving help.”

Where can we find wisdom in the trials and failings of the ancestors of our faith tradition, both Israelite and Christian?

Do we allow ourselves to occasionally revisit the pain and sadness experienced by previous generations of believers, caused by either their own mistakes or of those who persecuted them? What might we gain from this practice?

Philippians 4:1-9

Paul closes his letter to the Philippians by urging two women of that city’s Jesus group, Evodia and Syntyche, to put aside their quarrels and seek a resolution to their conflict. Although we cannot be sure what the issue was between the two, Paul, in verse 5, urges all involved to exercise “forbearance,” perhaps a better translation of the Greek word epieikesis than the commonly employed “gentleness.” Paul means to say that sometimes one must put aside the demands of strict justice and be merciful and accommodating to others. Scripture scholars John Pilch and Bruce Malina put it this way: “What the exhortation means is: don’t insist on tit for tat in your interaction with others; be ready to yield.”

While prudence requires that difficult circumstances be addressed accordingly and Christian standards be applied, perhaps there is something to be learned from Paul’s dealing with Evodia’s and Syntyche’s dispute. It can be tempting for those of us deeply committed to our faith and involved in the life of the church to feel a need to punish or condemn those whom we feel stand in our way, treat us unjustly, or oppose us. Sadly, these circumstances often evince feelings of anger and/or hatred. It can be easy to argue that justice requires a response to those who hurt us. Paul, however, urges his fellow disciples of Jesus to consider the path of forbearance and, more importantly, that all maintain their commitment to higher goals. This better way offers more than what can be gained from a vigilant sense of “strict justice.” Rather than be consumed by revenge and a desire to even scores, Paul invites us to think rather of “whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable.” How challenging yet wise!

Where might we be asked to exercise forbearance vis a vis those we encounter in the church and our lives?

How might the modern believer characterize the “peace of God” described in verse 7?

How might we concretize and describe those wonderful things Paul characterizes in a general way in verse 8?

Matthew 22:1-14

Contextually speaking, Jesus is addressing this parable to the Jerusalem elites who oppose him. Jesus’ first-century audience would have immediately been drawn in by the irony of the story and would have been very familiar with a number of the cultural clues embedded in the parable. For example, those who made light of the invitation (verse 5), one going to his farm, another to his business, are using an indirect but traditional Mediterranean way of signaling their disapproval of the dinner arrangements. Furthermore, it is rare in traditional cultures for people to share table-fellowship across status lines. (Even Paul ran into this issue, see 1 Cor 11:17-34.) The king depicted in this parable defies the expectations of all, for he is willing to invite those no one thinks worthy of such an honor. (Notice verse 10 – both the good and the bad are brought in.) Jesus affirms that many are invited to be a part of the Kingdom of God, even though the invitation might not be taken seriously. God desires to share the banquet. And among the guests will be some unlikely choices, at least from our point of view. Furthermore, remaining at the banquet is not guaranteed. Verses 11-12 illustrate that those who dishonor the king may not remain. Remaining at the Lord’s banquet, then, requires persistence; one cannot simply rest assured on the invitation alone.

What events/circumstances/people in our faith life have tested our willingness to persist as guests at God’s table?

Are their times when we have made light of God’s invitations?

How do we respond to those whom we see as unlikely choices to be among our fellow guests?

Isn’t today’s gospel reading the darndest parable? The whole thing just sort of jerks along, and doesn’t quite work – especially when you get to the poor fellow who is tossed into the outer darkness for violating the dress code. Puzzling. Let’s unpack it a little and maybe make it a bit easier to grasp.

First of all, this is one of those parables in which the writer, here it’s Matthew, takes a story of Jesus and re-works it for his own purposes. You can see another version of this parable – probably one a lot closer to the one Jesus told – in the fourteenth chapter of Luke. What Matthew does is sort of soup up the story so it isn’t exactly a street-legal parable anymore. Instead, it becomes an allegory of salvation history – a way of telling what Matthew sees as the central movements of God’s actions and plans for all of human history.

Since it’s an allegory and not a parable, we don’t need to bother too much about whether the details of the thing make sense the way they do with regular parables. So, for example, we don’t need to worry about how the king keeps dinner warm while he makes war against the first set of invited guests, destroys their city, and then has the banquet in that same city on pretty much the same day. That sort of thing is no problem in an allegory.

In this allegory, the first guests stand for Israel. The first two sets of slaves who issue the invitation represent the prophets of the old covenant, which is why some of them are beaten up and killed, hardly the usual way of declining an invitation. The city that is destroyed represents Jerusalem.

In the second part of the allegory, the slaves who are sent into the main streets to invite just anybody are the apostles, the followers of Jesus after the resurrection, who brought the church together. And the church, Matthew knew all too well, was filled with both good and bad, righteous and unrighteous, deserving and undeserving. After all, “everyone” means everyone: good, bad, and indifferent. The second crowd is very different from the first group, just as the church was very different from the leaders of Israel.

So, here we are. The wedding hall is filled with all sorts of guests. This precise moment in the story is Matthew’s present, the world, right then, as he knew it. It is also the world as we know it: the present age of the church.

Matthew is expressing the early Christian belief that, in spite of the words of the prophets and of John the Baptist, Israel, especially Israel’s leaders, had repeatedly ignored God’s invitation to his great messianic banquet for his son Jesus. So they are rejected, and the church is formed by the apostles. Remember, the apostles are represented in this allegory by the slaves who are sent to everybody else, to the lower classes, to women, to the gentiles, to the ones who had been ignored. And the apostles are told not to judge, but to invite. That was the way things were when Matthew used this parable of Jesus to tell the story of salvation history.

What happens next is big. Real big. What happens next is the end of all things, the second coming, the final judgment. The King arrives. And the King comes, apparently for the first time, to see his guests, to see who has managed to stumble or to be dragged into the party.

Now, at this point, a lot of Biblical scholars become very interested in the poor guy who gets tossed out. All sorts of things have been written about why he gets the boot, which mostly has to do with guessing what the reference to a “wedding robe” or a “wedding garment” meant back then. Since nobody really knows what a “wedding robe” means, the guesses have run amuck. They have included everything from ordinary clean clothes to a robe everybody supposedly had hanging in their house if they would only take a second to pick it up, to the white garments often given to newly baptized Christians.

Some interpreters even say the problem is the man’s silence, not his clothes. Still others like to talk about an inner state or condition. Some say the wedding robe is a metaphor for a “garment of good works.” Saint Augustine said that the wedding robe was “love that springs from a pure heart, a clear conscience, and a genuine faith.”

Another theory is that the wedding garment was a robe that the host gave to the guests as they arrived that the guests put on over whatever else they were wearing. There’s some good evidence for this understanding, and it fits with what Matthew is talking about.

But remember, what is happening here is not supposed to be a precise example of Palestinian social customs. Concern for accurate detail has gone out the window. This is a story about the final judgment!

So, Matthew is saying that, even though the church is filled with good and bad alike; and even though the apostles who call people to the church are not supposed to judge and are not supposed to exclude; and even though absolutely everyone is invited and absolutely everyone is handed all they need both to be properly dressed and to have a great time at the party; still, sooner or later, the King is going to arrive in person, and if you matter, if you are a real person, then you have to be able to say no.

You have to be able to reject the invitation, to ignore the robe; otherwise, you aren’t really there. The guy who refuses to put on the garment becomes a symbol for everyone invited to the feast who, nevertheless, declines to participate. It’s about the freedom we human beings have to just say no to God; it’s not about some weird overreaction to wearing the wrong outfit.

And it’s important that we have this choice, that we have the freedom to say no, to refuse to put on the garment handed us at the door, and so, thereby, to take our chances outside. If we can’t do that, if we can’t say no, then we can’t really say yes either, and we’re just sheep rounded up into a gilded pen.

Our humanity, our freedom, our very dignity demand that we have what the king gave that fool in the story, which is the opportunity to walk away from the greatest gift he could imagine, a gift he had, in fact, already been given.

And the poor guy had to really work at it; he was given all sorts of chances. But the King would not take away the man’s option to say no. The king would not treat him as someone whose actions didn’t matter and whose choices didn’t matter.

It’s the darndest parable. It is Matthew’s telling of the whole story of sacred history, from the beginning of Israel to his guesses about the final judgment.

The story is mainly about invitations, about God’s constant, persistent, and repeated invitation to God’s great party.

And who knows about our stubborn friend who is gnashing his teeth in the outer darkness? The parable hints that the character of the King is such that, sooner or later, he just might send a slave or two out that direction to issue, as he did with his first set of guests, one more batch of invitations. As the Old Testament reminds us, the Lord has been known to change his mind about acts of destruction.

The Rev. James Liggett is rector of St. Nicholas’ Episcopal Church in Midland, Texas. He is a native of Kansas and a graduate of the University of Houston and the Episcopal Divinity School. He has served parishes in Kansas, Texas, and Oklahoma.

In this reading, we hear the consequences of God’s deep disappointment. Regardless of the goodness of God’s creation and the abundance of God’s provision for God’s people, all this careful work and love has not yielded good fruit. Instead it has brought forth “bad grapes.” God provided and Israel did not hold up their end of the covenant. God’s threats of destruction and wrath are possible for me to understand on a human level, but make me very uncomfortable when it comes to God. However, hearing of God’s heartbreak and disappointment does make me mindful of how what I do impacts not only me and others, but also God’s self. With the gifts I have been given, I am accountable to all to use them justly and rightly.

Psalm 80:7-14

As Psalm 80 responds to the Isaiah passage, one can hear a dialogue going across these two readings. God issues the complaint against Israel in Isaiah. Then, after danger, destruction and hardship, Israel reaches back out to God. The psalmist remembers how God once tended and cared for Israel. This suggests that the tending and restoration of Israel is about more than rebuilding with bricks and mortar, but that it has to do with repairing a strained, or even broken, relationship with God. There is a deep trust in God’s own faithfulness to Israel expressed, which gives voice to the hope that whatever may be broken and lost can only be restored with God’s help and care.

Philippians 3:4b-14

Paul’s account in this reading from Philippians shows how his world was completely turned upside down by Jesus. As much as Paul was transformed, there is a lot of the zeal and passion in Saul the Pharisee that remains in Paul the Apostle. Paul admits that he had utmost confidence in his righteousness and faithfulness as a Pharisee. He lived out those beliefs fiercely. Paul tells of his radical transformation from trusting in his own abilities to be a faithful follower to acknowledging that all his trust and confidence must rest in God alone. His conversion included the understanding that righteousness, grace and faith are all gifts from God. In Philippians we hear of Paul’s passionate faith in Christ Jesus. His story of conversion reveals that while we may be transformed into new life in our faith, we do not necessarily lose those essential parts of ourselves that may be offered up in service to the spreading of the Gospel and following Christ.

Matthew 21:33-46

Who do you imagine you are in this parable? Do you feel like a persecuted messenger? Have you been the persecuting tenant? Do you wonder if you are producing fruits of the kingdom or falling and stumbling all over the cornerstone?

Today’s readings illustrate from a variety of perspectives a desire for and resistance to relationship with God. God’s people throughout the ages, not only in the Bible have rejected God, Christ and God’s other faithful messengers. We hear from Paul in Philippians that this is a risk worth taking for the sake of the Gospel. God’s desire for reaching and reconciling humanity goes so far as to send God’s own Son, God’s self to reach us, even if it means a humiliating death on a cross. Threats of God laying waste to Israel (in Isaiah) and of being broken or crushed by the cornerstone (in Matthew) are unsettling and challenging. Yet the pleas of the psalmist and the radical transformation of Paul give me hope. In the brokenness in our relationships with God and each other, where faith still rests in God, there is hope in restoration and resurrection.